


it feels like whiskey and butterflies

by ziggystars



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, bathroom handjobs, brits 2014, i still dont know how to tag, we can all blame harry for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggystars/pseuds/ziggystars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick has no idea how he let himself get into this position. He’s at the Brit awards, for fuck sake. This isn’t some seedy nightclub at two in the morning and he isn’t a horny little teenager any more. He’s above that now, above sneaking off with someone he shouldn’t into a toilet cubicle to get one off as quick as possible. And yet, here he is, older than he’d care to admit, locked in a bathroom at one of the most prestige award shows with his hand down Harry Styles’ pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it feels like whiskey and butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> this really is terrible and i'm sorry, i hope someone else writes a better brits 2014 fic than this and i apologise if you were all hoping for better. feel free to throw rocks at me but i just needed to get this one out of my system. unbeta'd and written in about an hour.

Nick has no idea how he let himself get into this position. He’s at the Brit awards, for fuck sake. This isn’t some seedy nightclub at two in the morning and he isn’t a horny little teenager any more. He’s above that now, above sneaking off with someone he shouldn’t into a toilet cubicle to get one off as quick as possible. And yet, here he is, older than he’d care to admit, locked in a bathroom at one of the most prestige award shows with his hand down Harry Styles’ pants. 

It’s entirely Harry’s fault, of course. No other explanation for it. It’s the curls and the dimples. Those wide green eyes and that little shy, yet somehow still seductive, smirk he’d given him just before slipping inside the bathroom. Nick had promised himself he would resist, promised himself the only reason he moved from his seat was because he was going for cigarette. He had no intentions of following. No intentions of being seduced by a kid half his age. 

Except apparently that was exactly his intention because here he fucking was. He hadn’t even tried to make it outside for his cigarette. Fuck smoking when you could have Harry Styles pressed up against a wall, breathless and blushing, right?

Harry lets out the sweetest sigh of relief the second Nick wraps his hand around his cock and he knows he made the right decision coming in here. “Fuck, Nick.” He manages to whisper out, burying his head in the crook of the radio presenter’s neck. One of his hands slips up and down the wall, scrambling for purchase that he just can’t find and his knees buckle as Nick twists his hand a little to the left, just the way Harry likes it. 

It’s pathetic. How well Nick knows Harry now. He could get him off in mere seconds, if it wasn’t for the fact he was such a fucking tease. This thing between them has been happening for a while now, so long that it doesn’t happen with anyone else _but_ Harry. Nick feels like that’s something they should maybe discuss, but of course, he makes no attempt to actually do this because that would mean talking about feelings and _gross_. No, thank you. For now, he’s content to ignore the swell in his heart whenever he see’s Harry smile and focus on these moments. Passion-fueled moments in the most inappropriate of places. He’d like to say this is the first time it’s happened, but it’s not. Won’t be the last either if Harry gets his way - which he always fucking does. 

“Been thinking about this since I got here. Saw you sat at that table. Looked so fucking good, Nick. So - “ What was most likely going to be a filthy compliment fades into nothing more than gasp as Nick presses his thumb against Harry’s slit, gathering up the precome there. 

“Jesus…” Nick’s embarrassed by how breathless he sounds when he’s not even the one being touched. He’s never been a selfish lover, gives as good as he gets and leaves them wanting more. But he’s never been so desperate to please someone the way he wants to please Harry. Has never gotten so much pleasure just from getting another person off before. There’s something about Harry though, the way he gets so vocal and needy, so eager to take anything that’s offered to him. Nick can’t get enough of it. 

There’s something happening on stage. He knows this because he can hear the audience applauding. It sounds important and for a brief moment, Nick thinks they should pause to at least pretend they give a fuck about what it is. But then Harry’s nose is nudging his scarf out the way and his mouth is latching onto his neck, sucking hard. Nothing else matters after this point. The Brits are shite this year, anyway. He’s only here for the free booze (refuses to admit the part of him that came because he never misses the chance to see young Harold dressed up).

His grip tightens on Harry’s cock, speeds up and Harry abandons the love bite he’s giving him to let out a low groan, slamming his head back so hard that it smacks against the tiled wall behind him. If it hurts, he doesn’t seem fazed. “Nick.” He sounds urgent, lost in his own bliss and Nick knows what that means. Knows it’s nearly over. 

If they were somewhere more secretive, back home in his bedroom, he’d stop. Get on his knees and go slow until Harry was fucking begging for it, until he made him come on just his tongue and then went for round two. But they just don’t have the time here. One Direction are nominated for at least three awards and it’s not going to go unnoticed that one of them is missing if he doesn’t get back to his seat soon. 

“Nick.” Harry repeats, one of his hands coming around to rest on the top of Nick’s back. His nails drag down the length of his spine and Nick hisses, arching into the touch. “Nick, need - “ The pop star seems to be struggling with words, because it just cuts off into a broken moan and he grunts a little in frustration after, annoyed that he can’t finish his own sentence. 

The great thing about them doing this for so long though is that Nick gets it. Knows exactly what Harry is asking for. Again, he wonders if this is something they should discuss but again he brushes it off. There’s no reason to complicate a handjob between two friends in a bathroom. No reason at all (he’ll keep telling himself this, even later tonight when he’s lying in bed, nervous that Harry’s with someone else now that he’s had his fill of him here). 

“Okay. S’okay.” He murmurs, pressing a brief kiss to Harry’s curls. “I got you.” His hand gives one more stroke, then another before letting go. He slips it further back, groping at his balls before pressing the pad of his index finger along the length of Harry’s ass crack. It stops at his hole, applies pressure but doesn’t slip inside and Harry pants, encouraging the action by spreading his legs a little wider or at least, as wide as possible with his pants tangled up around his ankles. 

“Fuck. Look at you.” Nick breathes out, hating the fact he sounds so fucking awe struck. Like a lovesick child rather than the composed, grown man he’s supposed to be. “So fucking eager for it.” He leans forward, unable to stop himself from biting on the swell of Harry’s bottom lip as he finally pushes one finger inside. It’s a little dry, but the precome from before helps and he knows from experience (so much fucking experience) that Harry likes it a little rough. Likes a little pain with his pleasure, as if to even the two out and keep him grounded. 

It doesn’t take much longer to push Harry over the edge. Nick quickly pushes in a second finger, twists over that spot that he knows so well and that’s it. For someone that is so loud during sex, Harry goes oddly quiet when he comes. His jaw clenches, his teeth grind together and he goes completely still. Nick thinks it’s the best fucking show he’ll see all night, fuck all the other performances that are going to be happening on stage. He eases him through it, keeps his fingers moving in and out at a languid pace before Harry eventually lets out a broken sob, shuddering at how over sensitive he is. 

For a brief moment, Nick’s forgotten where they actually are. He slips his fingers out and instead lets his palm rest against the wall behind them. Everything seems so quiet now, nothing but the sound of their own breathing. He can feel his own cock throbbing in his trousers, begging for some sort of attention and he presses it downwards, grinding down on the thigh that Harry has conveniently placed between his legs. “God, the things I would do to you if we were…” His hushed whisper comes to an end before he can finish, the words a painful reminder that _they’re at the fucking Brit awards_ \- and that’s ironically exactly when they hear it. 

_“Has anyone seen the curly-haired one?”_

Neither of them move. In fact, they freeze all together. It’s stupid, but Nick’s hoping he’s heard wrong. He’s hoping that isn’t Liam Payne’s voice going out over a microphone on stage. But then he carries on talking, a nervous chuckle and shit - that is Liam fucking Payne’s voice which means One Direction are on stage right now. All of them, except for one. “Shit.” Nick breathes, scrambling back. 

Harry snaps out of whatever post-orgasm bliss he had slipped into and nearly falls over, tripping over his own long legs as he attempts to tug his pants back up. It's a mad rush after that. Nick straightening his shirt out and making sure his scarf covers the red mark on his neck. Harry struggling to get his button done up as his hands shake and fuck, Nick doesn't know how no one is going to notice how flushed he is. How blown his pupils are and the late arrival. This was definitely the worst idea they've ever had (well, worst idea Harry's ever had because he's definitely taking the fall for this if they're caught. Nick was an innocent victim, weak and seduced by a higher power. That higher power of course being _Harry fucking Styles_ because who wouldn't follow him into a bathroom?).

Once they've rearranged themselves, Harry turns to look at Nick with an embarrassed smile. "Uh - IOU, I guess?" He suggests, one hand trying to pat down his curls and failing completely. They're untameable on the best of days, after all. 

Despite their terrible situation, Nick can't help but chuckle. He feels a rush of fondness wash over him, hates himself for it but can't do fuck all to stop it. Harry is just so endearing. His band are on stage right now, accepting an award for god knows what and Harry is _still_ here, keen to make sure this isn't going to cause a problem. That Nick will be okay on his own. He rolls his eyes, waving the curly haired boy off with a smile. "Go get 'em, popstar. You can make it up to me at the after party."

"Right. Shit, yeah. The after party." Harry's nods are a little too over enthusiastic as he agrees to this and his eyes drop down to look at Nick's lips, as if he is genuinely debating whether or not he wants to get out there on stage or stay here and shove his hand down Nick's pants. 

Being the _mature_ adult (he hates himself for it) that he is, Nick makes the decision for him. Harry will only get worked up and upset if his band are pissed off at him later and then he'll have to deal with the fall out. Nick isn't good with fall outs. Nick is good with wine and sex and music. Fall outs are far too dramatic for his liking. Reaching out, his long fingers made quick work of straightening out Harry's collar before nodding at the door behind them. "Off with you now, Curly. Liam sounds like he's doing _dreadful_ on that microphone." 

It's not true. Liam's handled the situation pretty fucking well, if he's honest but Nick always has to get a dig in somewhere. That's what being a Grimshaw is all about. Harry laughs, leaning up to smash their mouths together in a quick kiss before rushing towards the exit. Thirty seconds later, while Nick's washing his hands and re-evaluating his life choices, he hears Harry's voice booming out around the room. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, shaking his head at the terrible excuse for being late.

Fincham is never going to let him live this one down and he knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want more dreadful things in your life, follow me on tumblr!  
> http://cuthbutt.tumblr.com/


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